


Stolen Opportunity

by TelepathJeneral



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, it's basically vadarkin, just early, the Clone Wars is a very inspirational source
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral





	Stolen Opportunity

Coruscant was busy, frantic. Always like this. The arrangements for a parade had drawn thousands of beings to the city center, lining the pathways along the parade route, and buildings bristled with excited spectators. So many sentients, so many beings, enough so that their presences and thoughts pressed in around Anakin, needling him like bees around their hive. Or like sand, gritting under his fingernails every time he moved. And yet he found himself coming back so often, returning again and again. Why had the Jedi settled their temple here? A place of peace, of serenity? How did they think that possible, when there were so many other concerns swarming this planet?

 _It allows them to be close to the center of power._ A whisper from conversations past returned to him, making him square his jaw more firmly. Palpatine was right. The Jedi might have created their temple according to specific aesthetic principles, but it was still in sight of the Senate building. Perched on top of the layers of corruption, crushing the stories beneath it—no, it was no different.

Despite his irritation, his emotional confusion hovering beneath his skin, he did his best to exude an aura of calm tranquility, enduring the scrutiny of other Senators and dignitaries as they stood nearby. Though they were not participating in the parade going on, the presence of various important figures was still required, and as always, Anakin found himself the public face of the Jedi. It was no different from a gala, or a play, or any of the thousands of parties thrown on Coruscant. Stand here, smile, make polite conversation. It would never end.

A presence behind him made Anakin tense, his hand drifting to his waist to touch the hilt of his lightsaber even as long fingers found his shoulder. The touch was odd, a move of personal contact unexpected even on Coruscant, and Anakin waited until the man beside him stepped forward to join him at the balcony.

“Captain Tarkin.” Anakin’s tension eased, and there was genuine warmth in his tone as he studied the other man. “I hadn’t realized you were on-planet.”

“Commander, now.” Tarkin inclined his head slightly, eyes on the procession below. “I had to be here for my commission. Imagine my own surprise to find you, then.”

“Circumstances required it.”

“Ah.” Tarkin nodded knowingly, keeping himself close to Anakin as they pretended to watch the parade in earnest. A few silent minutes passed, the music of the marchers rising to the balconies, and finally Tarkin took a careful step closer to speak more quietly.

“It seems strange, General Skywalker, to see you here. Our interactions so far have been marked by more exciting circumstances.”

“The channels of bureaucracy are not so strange to you, I hope. Your presence here indicates that.”

“Fair enough.” Tarkin inclined his head again. “I simply mean that the environment does not suit you.”

To have his own thoughts echoed in such a way made Anakin sigh, and he folded his arms across his chest to brace himself against the festivities around him. “You can say that again.”

Tarkin grinned, a sharp little smile that made Anakin pause, and both men looked to each other for a long moment. Anakin had fond memories of the former captain, the man’s determination and quick thinking a clear asset in any situation. And their conversations, though brief, echoed some of the same principles that Anakin had discussed in private with Chancellor Palpatine: principles about the organization of the galaxy, about the future unfolding before them.

“You know, we haven’t had a decent conversation for some time. Has it been nearly a galactic year? And before then, it was only a chance encounter—”

“I take your meaning.” Anakin nodded firmly, gripping his own upper arm with one hand. “Although.”

“Although?”

“We might be missed.” Anakin shrugged, his gaze suddenly lightening. The prospect had some appeal. “Though that wouldn’t be so bad.”

Tarkin blinked once in surprise, his grin sharpening. “Ah. You meant a conversation somewhere else.”

“Yes.” Anakin furrowed his brow, turning away from the parade grounds. “What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing, nothing. Your idea is better.” Tarkin nodded, drawing close to Anakin’s side to weave through the crowd. Though neither man took hold of the other, they made their way away from the forward areas in perfect sync, sometimes splitting apart before joining together once more. Anakin was accustomed to working in such a way with his fellow Jedi, sensing them through a crowd, matching Ashoka or Obi-Wan step for step as they canvassed an area. But with Tarkin, their movement was less directed, more fluid: they were not on a specific mission, and yet they moved with equal purpose, their desire to leave the company of others and engage more fully with each other driving them on. Anakin wondered, briefly, if Tarkin had ever been considered for the Order. He would have been a valuable Jedi.

As the crowd thinned, the two men returned to a more comfortable pace, turning down a side alley in the maze of the viewing platforms. Finally, as the roar of the crowd grew ever quieter, Tarkin slowed his steps, ushering Anakin into a side alcove to face him properly. They hadn’t even left the boundaries of the viewing platform, the structure pockmarked with space to allow for a reduction of building materials, but the only other beings nearby were cleaning crew and maintenance droids, their few mutterings and burblings joining the general hum.

“Still not the center of civilized conversation. But better.” Tarkin leaned back against the wall, holding his hands behind his back. Though the pose matched the usual Republic parade rest, Anakin found the man oddly at ease, the relaxation dangerously intimate for their level of familiarity.

“You’re surprisingly particular. I would have thought being in the army would have trained that out.”

“Have you lost your own preferences through the training of the Jedi? I believe it is similar.” Tarkin’s smile had not lost its power, and Anakin admitted that the point was well made. “You are also not afraid to make your preferences known. That much has been clear to me.”

“It’s as you say: the position of Jedi still allows me to claim a few personal decisions.” Anakin ignored the flicker of memory in the back of his brain, that reminder that his decisions as of late had drifted even further from the Jedi Code. “Though attending this…celebration was not one of them.”

“Ah, yes. A parade for the war effort? Our glorious soldiers, riding the skycars through the streets of Coruscant.” Tarkin tsked, his tongue clicking, and Anakin watched him more closely for expressing the sentiment.

“You don’t approve.”

“It isn’t a question of whether I approve. The people need their parades, don’t they? It is the side of politics I could never appreciate.” Tarkin sighed, straightening his posture, and Anakin allowed himself a quirked smile.

“The Jedi, too, claim to avoid politics.”

“So it falls to our beloved Chancellor to clean up the mess.”

Ah. Chancellor Palpatine. Anakin’s smile softened to think of the older man, calm and content in his offices above the capital. “That’s right. You enjoy a…” Friendship? Familiarity? Tarkin sensed the hesitation and nodded his affirmation, meeting Anakin’s eyes.

“Yes. I know the Chancellor. We’ve had some interesting discussions, over the years.”

“Mm.” Anakin felt the prickle of recognition. “It seems Palpatine has an affinity for…interesting discussions.”

“So you know the type.”

“I’m glad to know he’s the one who got the chancellorship.”

There again—Tarkin’s flicker-quick smile, sharpened to a point. “And yet the Jedi stay away from politics.”

“In principle.” Anakin knew he was meant to be more guarded, to avoid discussing the intricacies of the Order with non-Jedi, but Tarkin was different. Tarkin wasn’t like most other non-Jedi. Tarkin… _understood_. “This war has changed most of that.”

“Of course, _General_ Skywalker.” The emphasis indicated that Tarkin knew full well how things had changed, and Anakin’s smile turned more grim as he considered the alterations. What had the Jedi been before the war? He could hardly remember. His training, his completion of the Trials, those had been straightforward enough, but the entirety of his Jedi ‘career’  had been defined by this war.

At least he was good at it. In the center of a firefight, among the chaos of death and destruction and pain and—

Was Tarkin speaking again?

“—a certain aptitude for it. It takes a certain character to rise to the top.” Tarkin nodded again to him, prompting Anakin to hesitate. Did he admit to his lack of attention? Again, Tarkin seemed to note the pause, the uncertainty, and his smile returned as he settled into proper Republic parade rest. His eyes, so bright and clear, studied Anakin’s features, tracing the lines of his nose and jaw in an instant.

“I could say the same of the army. The clone troopers are one thing—though they deserve more credit than most generals give them.” Anakin was quick to clarify. “But there are also the commanders. Captains, like you, who’ve had their careers here for years. That takes skill of its own, and not just the skill to survive on a battlefield.”

“Oh, you _flatter_ me, General Skywalker.” If Anakin didn’t know any better, he would have sworn Tarkin _purred_ the words, the leaner man shifting forward in his stance. “We could talk boardroom policies all day, if you’d wanted. But I believe you have had your fair share of that, too.”

“Trust me, there’s enough of _talking_ inside the Order. It kills me to have to endure it outside.” Anakin scoffed, accepting Tarkin’s nod of consolation. “How do you survive it?”

“Oh, men like us…we find ways. We find ways.” Tarkin’s attention shifted slightly, and he raised a hand to touch the edge of Anakin’s collar. The movement was surprising, surprising enough that Anakin did little to respond, and it was a long moment before Tarkin pulled away again. “The intricacies of sentient negotiations are not that difficult, once you recognize the patterns.”

“Patterns?” Anakin asked stupidly, blinking back to awareness. “How do you mean?”

“I mean that, for all the books and all the articles and all the vids out on the ‘Net about how to deal with other sentients, it is really quite simple. What, exactly, does the qualifier ‘sentient’ describe?” Anakin opened his mouth to respond, but Tarkin continued on, his attention focused. “It refers only to a barrier, a vague barrier, that we are _aware_ of our environments. ‘Sapient’, too, is much the same: it is simply that we remember more, that we process information at a slightly better rate, that we absorb information and can define our selves apart from the world around us. We have an identity. That is all. Beneath that, below that layer, we are still simply beasts. Animals.”

“And sapience grants us nothing?”

“It makes us more effective at what we do. More efficient.” Tarkin shivered, straightening to look Anakin in the eyes. “But to my point.”

“You were talking about boardrooms.”

“Boardrooms, military meetings, Senate hearings, the meetings of your Order. We have taken the beasts and placed them at a table, so that instead of fighting over territory, we may decide it more peacefully. More entities survive, and everyone returns to their own clans feeling better about themselves.” Tarkin’s grin faded slightly, his resolve intensifying as he studied Anakin again. “I…apologize, General Skywalker. This is a branch of philosophy I do not often discuss.”

“It might comfort you to know that the Chancellor and I often discuss this kind of philosophy. It forms a useful counterpoint to the structure of the Jedi.” Anakin now reciprocated Tarkin’s gesture, reaching up to clap him on the shoulder. “You are in good company here.”

“Oh, you are much more than that, General.” Tarkin seemed bolstered by Anakin’s motion, his earlier sly confidence returning. “But I repeat: the organization of human groups is less complicated when one understands it is merely the expression of primal urges. Fear, anger, the struggle for survival. They are all there, lurking beneath the polite speech.”

“And our sense of order gives us nothing? Our civilizations, our planets, our societies?”

“The same principles on a grander order.”

“Then the Chancellor has his work cut out for him.” Anakin let his hand fall, suddenly conscious of its lingering on Tarkin’s shoulder. “Or do you think him the proper man for the job?”

“I am not about to admit treason in front of a Jedi.” Tarkin raised an eyebrow, leaning back again. “But fortunately, yes: Palpatine is the ideal man for the job. As I said earlier, he has an appreciation for the more subtle arts of politics that I never perfected. My aptitudes lie with the military, and I could not hope to manage others with the diplomacy he does.”

“So even in this, you admit there is some subtlety.”

“My philosophy does not require that subtlety is absent. Subtlety is the key, in fact. It is simply that our relationships are more subtle now, the skin over the skeleton of our urges.”

“I am a Jedi, Captain Tarkin. I am not the man to whom you should speak about ‘urges’.”

“Is that so?” Tarkin rocked forward again on his heels, his hand reaching up to grasp the first layer of Jedi robes. “Are you so far removed, then? The purest form of sapient beings, the _Jedi,_ no longer merely pretending at ‘order’ and ‘structure’ but truly achieving it? I reject that notion, Anakin Skywalker.”

“You aren’t a Jedi. You cannot know what we are.”

“No. But I know what _you_ are, Anakin Skywalker.” And with that, Tarkin was pulling harder, his fingers suddenly clenching in the cloth of the robes, and Anakin found himself falling forward to crash against newly-appointed Commander Wilhuff Tarkin. Their lips met like two starships docking, the sparks and friction of an interstellar connection flooding through Anakin’s system. He stumbled, catching himself against Tarkin’s form, and Tarkin caught him with a surprising grace and ease.

The strength in Tarkin’s arms was just as he’d expected: the man clearly maintained a regimen, some sort of routine that kept him in excellent physical condition, and Anakin reached up to grab Tarkin’s arm to feel the muscle there. The kiss was barely worthy of the name—it was pressure and heat, a gesture in the service of sheer communication rather than sensual affection.

Briefly, Anakin thought of Padme. Padme, the woman he had married, the Senator he had loved, who even now was drifting even further away from him. The war had changed them both, pushed them both so far, and now here he was, _kissing_ the man he’d dragged out of a Separatist prison. Would Padme condemn him for this? Tarkin wasn’t to know, Tarkin would have no knowledge of Padme—and yet Anakin’s head filled with the thrill of pure sensation, the contact so often denied the Jedi, a kiss similar in form to the ones he shared with his wife but so drastically different in tone and flavor as to be a different entity altogether.

Tarkin shifted position again, changing his hold on Anakin’s clothing, and Anakin could do nothing but follow, pulling away for air before resuming their kiss. If this was how the commander preferred to argue, who was Anakin to complain? Tarkin expressed himself eloquently, his hands moving their bodies together while his lips pushed against Anakin’s, and when they finally pulled away for good, Tarkin’s gaze was darker, more focused than Anakin had ever seen.

No, that wasn’t entirely true—Anakin had seen this at the Citadel. Tarkin’s intensity there had been uncontained, unequalled by even the efforts of his rescuers, and that was after several rounds of torture. To have that kind of focus directed at _him_ , all on the basis of a single kiss, was nearly overwhelming, and Anakin stumbled back as Tarkin released him again. The pressure of the world was too much, all of the beings on Coruscant still clustered around him, so many lights winking on and off in the flow of the Force, and Anakin gasped for breath even as Tarkin faced him, undaunted and unruffled.

And then, almost as suddenly as the kiss—just as suddenly as Tarkin had appeared, as quickly as they’d escaped the crush of the crowd—Tarkin stepped out of the alcove again, brushing past Anakin to leave the Jedi alone with his thoughts. Anakin could make no move to follow, had no power to pursue him, and so he focused on his more immediate surroundings. One thing at a time: his breathing slowed, became more regular, the process helping him slip into a light meditation and bring order to his thoughts.

Even now, the thought of ‘order’ and ‘structure’ simply reminded him of Tarkin’s arguments, and all his work was for nothing. Anakin tried to smooth down his robes, shaking himself back into the present, and stepped out of the alcove again to copy Tarkin’s casual ease. He would certainly be missed from the balcony by now. He’d have to ensure that he was seen again, that the other Jedi were aware he wasn’t avoiding his responsibilities.

Right. Because slinking off to kiss Republic Army commanders definitely _wasn’t_ in his list of responsibilities.

The next time he met Commander Wilhuff Tarkin, he would have to take greater precautions.


End file.
